Life and Times
by GuessWhatTimeItIs
Summary: What if Marceline lied about her age?


The dust had not settled. Previous fighters had only just emerged from the stage of battle, the coliseum shaking with the sound of fans all around cheering like madmen. An epic battle had been played in front of them, the fighters both vital and impressive. But one was found wanting, and he had lost more than the fight.

An emperor of excellent taste, the crowd loved his latest achievement. These games were to commemorate the victories of the empire, and no celebration had ever compared in quality or scale. For days on end the coliseum was filled to the brim, each day bringing more exotic sights and sounds to the capital.

And today the coliseum hosted one of the most anticipated events in all the land. The Pale Lady was going to fight. It was not totally uncommon for a woman to participate, though this one in particular was different. She was known as the fiercest fighter, the one whom all others compared themselves to in battle. The Pale Lady had never been bested, her endurance and skill far outmatching others.

As the portcullis lifted on one side of the coliseum, the crowd roared. You could feel it in your chest. The walls shuddered, straining to hold the masses in the air. Their appetite was unending, and they wanted to see the famed gladiator. They caught their first glimpse of the figure as she sauntered into the arena.

She wore a shawl made of a magnificent wolf, with various other hides and materials draped across her person. The Pale Lady was known for always wearing a hood during fights, never a helmet or any armor. She was famous for the shear amount of times she had been grievously wounded in the past, and the woman still did not changed her ways. And she was faster and stronger than ever, if there was any change in her performance.

Lifting her hooded face to the crowd, she smiled. Marceline reveled in the moment. The roar of the crowd, the heat of the sun on her furs, and the sand beneath her feet. With purpose she strode into middle of the arena, awaiting her challenger.

She did not have to wait long. Another entrance was opened, and again the crowd went wild. This gladiator stepped forward, the local favorite and an excellent fighter. However, she was not the same as the Pale Lady. This Amazonian woman was more like the gladiators the crowd was used to seeing.

She wore no helmet, and had her hair up in a simple ponytail. It was brownish-blonde, a fair looking woman from the north. Most likely she had originally been a slave, but she wore the wooden sword or release on her waist. She obviously had the skill to take on the dark challenger, having won freedom from the oppressors who now showed her nothing but complete respect.

Armor was scant, and she wore little more than simple clothes to cover her modesty and maintain her freedom of movement. She was pretty, but not the beauty ascribed to by the masses. Her chin was stronger than that, and her features were angular to a fault.

From the chanting of the crowds, Marceline came to understand this woman's name was Regula. Smiling idly beneath her hood, the dark woman readied her sword. A strong gladius, the blade having originally come from a soldier who had fallen at Marceline's side, now it served as her weapon of choice. This Regula wore a clawed gauntlet and held a circular shield, each held balanced in a pose of readiness.

The two stood across the arena from one another, waiting for approval. They looked to the emperor, as he stood in his box. With a nod, the fight began.

Lunging forward with the reflexes of a cat, Marceline made the first blow. Or tried to land one, anyways. This woman was fast, faster than Marceline would have predicted. She had only a moment to block her opposition's claws, as the woman got in close to strike a blow.

Marceline had only been a vampire for two hundred years so far, and she still reveled in the bloodlust of a close fight. She carried a gladius not because it was easier to maneuver—she could heft any sized weapon with the ease supernatural strength lent her—instead she used it to keep fights close to her.

And indeed, her opponent's weapon was well suited on this front too. Regula was quicker than any mortal Marceline had ever encountered. Marceline quickly felt an attachment to the woman. She was the only mortal that could keep up with her, and the dark lady had found respect in a place she never would have anticipated.

The battle wore on for over an hour. Neither side yielded. Each woman gave no quarter, yet they could not best one another. Marceline would not give up. Regula shared the sentiment. The crowd called for the fight to be ended, not for lack of entertainment, but for the two excellent fighters to live. This was not a fight to see who was greater. Now it was a dangerous dance, and the crowd did not want to see either of their two favorites die on this field.

Still, the emperor would not call it over. He sat immobile, silent.

Two women fought for supremacy, and neither was winning. Even with her superhuman strength, Marceline could only do so much. She was a young vampire, she didn't have the endurance required to best this mortal. And yet, Marceline wondered how this fair-haired woman could still stand and fight after she could not. Willpower must be her greatest weapon.

Now it was not just the crowd who wanted to see this woman live. Marceline felt it was time to let this worthy being win. She had earned that much. After being undefeated for so long, Marceline could hardly bear to lose, but this woman deserved that much.

Marceline made to give up. She raised a finger to the sky, falling to her knees. At the same moment, the woman standing across from her had mirrored the action. There was no rehearsing. They had not discussed this plan. Somehow, both fighters had given the other victory in the same moment.

The crowd had risen, but there were no cheers. They all looked down at the scene in apprehension, and then to the emperor. With a single smooth motion, he stood. Stretching out his arms, the man above all others gave the sign of victory to both sides.

Deafening was the response. Both warriors had won, both having shown true skill and valor. They were both awarded laurels for victory, and both offered the wooden sword. Each had proven themselves beyond all others.

The two women exchanged a meaningful look.

They took the swords and left the arena together, as equals.


End file.
